


Hues and Signals

by queensmooting



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 15:04:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensmooting/pseuds/queensmooting
Summary: An English merchant’s travels bring him to the Kingdom of Naples, and the eye of a local portraitist.





	Hues and Signals

**Author's Note:**

> a bday fic for my sweet pal @ongzori, as a thank you for all her incredible art <3
> 
> sorry about any flagrant historical inaccuracies i promise there was an attempt
> 
> edit: now kindly translated into chinese by qiao1029! thank you so much :) [link](https://m.weibo.cn/detail/4453364051704258)

“There’s a ship coming in,” Petra announces from the window.

 

“There’s always a ship coming in these days.” Levi looks up anyway. “What is it this time?”

 

“England. What a dull flag.”

 

“Oh.” He loses interest and returns to the wooden canvas.

 

Petra’s  _ lira da braccio _ sits on the white tablecloth before him, mid-morning sunlight sliding along its maple curves. In her childhood Petra would play the lira in Florentine streets for food and coin. Now she plays at small courts for raucous applause. 

 

Levi squints at his palette, mixing for a richer brown.

 

“What could the English possibly have to trade?” Petra asks. “Sheep shit?”

 

“Rain,” Levi says. “Rats.”

 

He tests a new hue on the palette and hopes it will convey the varnish on the lira, the way strips of light stretch across its sheen. It’s an essence of painting, the capture of light.

 

“I think I’ll see what all the fuss is about,” Petra says. She leaves the window and stands at his shoulder. “Aren’t you done with my lira?”

 

“No.”

 

“Why do you want to paint that old thing anyway?”

 

“The  _ chiaroscuro  _ of it all.”

 

“Ah, of course. The  _ chiaroscuro _ .”

 

She sighs, gives him a small tug on his short length of tied-back hair. 

 

“Don’t keep yourself cooped up too long,” she says on her way out. “It’s a perfect day.”

 

*

 

Levi stays hunched over his palette until his back protests. Then he rises, joints popping as he stretches. He wonders how much poor posture has aged him past his twenty-five years.

 

With a satchel slung over his cotton tunic he leaves his dim house for the bright Neapolitan afternoon. Across the cobalt gulf Vesuvius crests and dips, its misshapen peak swimmy with heat. Not even the heavens were immune to the bustle of the city, peppered with gulls and ship masts and a global medley of flags.

 

Navigating the heart of the city required nimble feet and quick eyes. Distraction came easy with scents of frying sea bass and sights of colorful fruits from impossibly far away. A moment’s distraction was all it took to tread on a lady’s skirts, to trip over a child’s kick ball, to knock over a rack of robes and have to manage the florins to pay for them.

 

Levi threads through the commotion until he reaches a narrow street overlooking the markets. He swings himself up on a low wall and from his satchel unpacks a drawing pad and charcoal, balancing the pad on his thighs. Then he casts about for a subject.

 

There’s a tall wool merchant at the stall twenty feet in front of him, speaking accented Spanish to the men around him. They bring sheets of fine fleece for the man to show his customers. The merchant’s bright smile contrasts with the deep seaman’s tan of his skin, the sun-bleached gold of his hair. Levi watches for a while as the man charms his purveyors, switching seamlessly from Spanish to the Neapolitan dialect and back.

 

Needing a break from his usual portraits, Levi planned a landscape when he set out to draw. The sights were inviting, with the streets sinking toward the gulf and crawling with shimmery heat, the bay laurel by the water barely budging in the slow suggestion of a summer breeze. But there was something equally intriguing about the merchant’s manner.

 

Levi sketches for a while as the sun swelters. A nearby perfumer’s wares tickle at his sinuses but he’s too absorbed to mind. His fingertips blacken with smudges of grainy charcoal, only breaking the flow to savor a few moments that catch his eye. Like the billowing mass of black-tipped gulls over the water, the heavy sway of church bells at the midday toll, or the quiet relief on the merchant’s heated face as he draws a swig of water from his jug. Levi couldn’t capture them on paper in the moment, but he could remember them.

 

The sun falls and hovers over the water, near-blinding, until the sharp light blurs out details of the landscape. Levi taps his pencil on the edge of the paper, looking over his drawing. It began as a practice in shading and depth, the rise and fall of the streets. But Levi’s eye returned to the wool merchant’s stall again and again. He’d given more movement to the man’s hands than he had to the wind in the grass, the children playing in the street, or the ball bouncing at their feet.

 

“May I see?”

 

Levi nearly pitches backward off the wall in surprise. He grips his drawing pad and looks up to see the merchant standing in front of him, removing his hat, hair sweat-mussed and wild. Up close his eyes are blue, his smile earnest. He’s younger than Levi would have guessed.

 

“Ah?” Levi says.

 

The merchant nods at Levi’s drawing pad. “You are an artist, yes?”

 

“Oh, well...I guess it’s subjective, isn’t it, but--”

 

“Ah, so  _ you  _ are an artist.”

 

The man laughs, good-natured, at his own joke. Levi doesn’t respond, still finding his bearings.

 

“My apologies for disturbing you,” the man says, tipping his hat. “Have a good day, sir.”

 

“Wait!”

 

Levi slides off the wall, leaning back against it. For all he knew the man would be on a ship tomorrow, bound for some far-off harbor, if not lost at sea. Where was the danger in letting him look?

 

Levi folds the drawing pad back to make it hard for the man to snoop around, then hands it to him. The man holds the pad carefully. His face softens as his eyes move over the sketch.

 

“I just drew what I saw.”

 

“You did this all in the few hours you were sitting here?”

 

“Yes.” Levi frowns. “You noticed me? This whole time?”

 

“I did,” the man says, unabashed. “A world of action and you were so still, so quiet.”

 

His tone is different now, low and soft, less of a salesman’s pitch to it. Levi takes the pad back when the man holds it out.

 

He was never one to stand out, always too short or too plain or too avoidant. And somehow this man noticed him.

 

“Your eye for detail is incredible. You even got my great brute of a nose.” The man grins. “What’s your name?”

 

“Levi. Ackerman.”

 

“I’m Erwin.”

 

Quiet falls. The afternoon grows too hot for lingering. 

 

“I’ll leave you to your peace,” Erwin says after another moment, shuffling backward. Even in the odd silence the warmth of his smile never falters. “Good day, Signore Ackerman.”

 

Levi watches him go. He has the odd notion to call him back but can’t think of one reason why.

 

*

 

Levi dedicates the next morning to the finishing touches of a commission, a portrait of the daughter of a traveling Flemish duke. The girl was little more than five and hardly sat still the day Levi sketched her, but there was something charming in her fits of energy, the way her eyes strayed toward the window. He hoped to depict her spirit.

 

He paints until Petra demands tea. At the window with his hand on the kettle he spots an English flag in the harbor alongside the rest of the ships.

 

In the afternoon Petra goes with him to deliver the finished portrait, plucking away at her lira.

 

“This damned instrument needs a fresh tuning five times a day in this humidity,” Petra grumbles, as if she didn’t love the lira more tenderly than any first-born child. “It was never this terrible in Florence, you can be assured of that.”

 

The Flemish duke fawns over the painting, giving Levi an extra handful of florins. The girl herself shows more interest in Petra’s instrument, and demands five songs before they’re allowed to leave.

 

Afterward Levi and Petra wander toward the markets to shop for supper. Petra haggles with a fish merchant while Levi catches snippets of a conversation a few stalls down the street, trying to pick up on the language. Something in the roll of it makes him think French, though he doesn’t understand a word.

 

He looks over to see the wool merchant from yesterday, shaking hands with two other men and bidding them  _ adieu _ . 

 

“Petra.” Levi passes her his earnings. “I’m going to look around, I can meet you at home--”

 

“Fine, fine,” she says, and resumes her argument with the merchant.

 

Erwin removes his hat, fanning his flushed face in the middle of the street. With his free hand he pulls at the collar of the shirt under his outer robe. Levi smiles.

 

“Overdressed, are you?” he asks.

 

Erwin’s eyes widen, surprised. Then he looks almost fond, in a way Levi’s unaccustomed to. People look at his paintings, not him.

 

“Indeed,” Erwin says. “Even the summers in England require more layers than this.”

 

“Sounds dreadful.”

 

Erwin laughs. “You know, Signore Ackerman--”

 

“Just Levi, please,” he says quickly. Being addressed by his surname makes him feel like he’s talking to a customer.

 

“Levi, then. Levi, it seems I have a free afternoon. I planned to tour your city, but find myself at a loss for where to start. Perhaps if I had a guide it would make the trip more enjoyable.”

 

“I’m sure it would. It’s a big city but worth seeing, if you’ve got the walking legs for it.”

 

Erwin smiles at him expectantly, eyebrows rising.

 

“Oh, you mean--” Levi wheezes an awkward laugh. “It’s lucky I don’t make a living off my wit.”

 

“On the contrary,” Erwin says. “The fine arts require a fine mind.”

 

“Hrm.” The man gives praise far too easy. Levi doesn’t know what to make of it.

 

“But yes, Signore--Levi. I hoped you would accompany me. I understand if you have prior engagements--”

 

“No, no.”

 

Erwin fixes his hat. His smile is warm as the afternoon. “Wonderful.”

 

They climb the hills into more spacious stretches of Naples. Levi supposes he should tell Erwin facts about the city, its culture and history, but he can’t stop asking questions about the man himself.

 

“How many languages  _ do  _ you speak?” Levi asks, trying not to sound too impressed.

 

“Five. Working on my Chinese as well.” He smiles at Levi’s incredulous look. “I spend too much of my life on the sea, in the company of drunk sailors and wool. I have nothing but time to study what I choose, and I chose languages. It’s useful in my trade.”

 

A laughable turn of phrase comes to his mind-- _ you have a talented tongue _ \--and he bites his own before he can embarrass himself.

 

“Now Levi, you’ve asked me about England and merchantry and every dull thing there is to know about my life. Would you begrudge me to ask about yourself?”

 

Erwin touches his shoulder amicably, and it nearly makes Levi stumble on the steep ground.

 

“Hm. I suppose.”

 

“The lovely woman accompanying you in the market...your wife?” Erwin’s smile is teasing, like they’re old friends. “Someone you’re courting?”

 

“Certainly not,” Levi says, wrinkling his nose. “It’d be like courting my sister.”

 

“I see. Do you have a sister?”

 

“No, no siblings. My mother died young.”

 

“I’m sorry, Levi. My parents did as well.” 

 

This time when Erwin touches his shoulder Levi’s ready for it, and it’s a comfort. The shared grief passes between them, the years of growing up alone. The details could wait for another day, when the sun didn’t sparkle so merrily along the marble walls and smooth stone streets.

 

“If you don’t mind me noticing,” Erwin says, “Ackerman is no Italian name.”

 

“No. I’m Jewish, like my friend Petra. My mother’s parents came to Naples after we were forced out of Sicily. It seems every generation of my family started somewhere, only to end up in another place entirely. Who knows where I’ll be at the end of my lifetime.”

 

“I can't imagine how hard that must have been,” Erwin says sincerely.

 

Levi shrugs. “This century has been kind to us. Kinder than any before it, at least. My grandfather always said it meant harder times were waiting around the bend, but I’m still waiting.”

 

They reach a high hill overlooking the port of Mergellina, the coastal fishing villages, a rainbow of rooftops over walls washed white as bone. Conversation falls silent as they settle on the cool grass. The sunset turns the gulf into a broken glass mirror of gold.

 

“No waters look like this in the north,” Erwin admits after a time, settled back on his elbows. “In England the sea is dark as a storm most days. This is a sight I’m glad to have seen.”

 

Erwin watches the gulf and Levi watches him. The man had a vision of a profile, a sharp nose and prominent brows and full lips parted slightly in wonder. He couldn’t deny Erwin had entranced his artist’s sensibilities.

 

“Though I suppose you’re used to it,” Erwin says. “If you’d rather stare at me instead.”

 

He meets Levi’s eyes, smirking.

 

“Bastard,” Levi mutters, making Erwin laugh. 

 

“Only joking. What was on your mind?”

 

“Truthfully? The way you were looking at the water just now...I imagined a painting.”

 

“Of me?”

 

Levi shrugs. “Instincts at this point, I guess.”

 

“You could, if you’d like. When the market hours are over I have nothing to occupy my time but cards on the ship with my men. I’d be glad for a change.”

 

“You really would?”

 

“I’d pay, of course. It’d be interesting to see myself from another’s eye. Especially yours.”

 

The earnestness on his face made Erwin look even younger. The thought of spending more time with him set a confused turmoil in Levi’s chest, nerves and elation at once.

 

“Alright,” Levi says. “I can fit you in. I’ll show you where I work and you can come by tomorrow.”

 

“Wonderful. I must say, it’s good to have an excuse to see you again.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“You’re an interesting person, and a good partner for conversation. It’s not something you get often when working with sheep.”

 

Levi snorts. “Well, there it is. You simply have low standards.”

 

Erwin stands and extends a hand to pull Levi to his feet. They walk back into the city under a navy sky and a rising half moon, sliced clean down its middle. The residential walls crawl with vines, every house a secret tucked away into the street. 

 

“Your studio is in your home?” Erwin asks when they reach it.

 

“The clients like it. Says it makes them feel relaxed, and they can have something to drink while they sit for hours.”

 

“I’m looking forward to it.”

 

Levi stops at his front door, taps his fingers on the frame.

 

“The harbor will be dark,” he says. “Don’t fall in the water on your way back.”

 

Erwin smiles. “Good night, Levi.” 

 

He dons his hat, tips it to Levi, and departs. Levi wills a smile from his face before he goes inside to Petra.

 

*

 

To alleviate anxious energy when Erwin arrives the following afternoon, Levi begins by showing him around his small studio. 

 

Petra spends most of the morning wondering why he was anxious at all. He barely manages to shake her out the door before Erwin shows up. If Levi himself couldn’t pinpoint what it was about Erwin that unsettled his foundation, he certainly couldn’t discuss it with Petra. As much as he loves her, she could only keep a secret as long as it took her to find a neighbor to share it with.

 

Several of the paintings in his studio depict Petra, leading to abundant gossip that amuses more than irritates him. These were early paintings, when it was only ever the two of them, before anyone else sought out his work. Neither had the slightest romantic interest in the other, but they spent enough time together and shared enough of a religious heritage that every elder on his street had asked him at one point or another when he was going to marry the girl.

 

In the back closet Levi keeps his oldest paintings, as a reminder of his growth. Allowing Erwin to parse through them was a gesture of trust he couldn’t begin to explain to the man.

 

“This is Petra?” Erwin asks, holding up the small wooden canvas. “She looks, ah…”

 

“Like a squashed orange, I know.” Levi rises to his toes to look over Erwin’s shoulder. “She was particularly offended by the nose.”

 

“Oh, that’s what that is.”

 

Levi takes the canvas from him and swats his arm lightly with it.

 

“I had to find a trade,” Levi explains. “And I didn’t have the temperament for an apprenticeship, never mind a guild. Used to pickpocket my way through life, until the viceroy started hanging you for filching a potato. But Petra had connections to artists through her music. She was able to get me supplies, contacts...now here we are.” 

 

“Here you are.” Erwin looks almost proud. “And how did you become so skilled without a teacher?”

 

The praise lands warm in Levi’s chest. “Well, years of daily practice, and learning from example. Went to loads of galleries, saw their brushstrokes up close. Looking closer at everything, really.  Light is the most important factor. Where it lands, where it comes from…” His eyes trace a slant of sun across Erwin’s cheekbone, down where his nose casts its own shadow across the swell of his upper lip. For a moment Levi forgets his point. “So much of art is working with light.”

 

Erwin’s breath is quiet, expectant. Levi clears his throat.

 

“Shall we begin?”

 

He sits Erwin down in front of the easel by the window, where street chatter and gull cries drift in with the wind.

 

“Should I…?” Erwin begins, turning to face the easel. “Or…?” He gestures toward the window.

 

Levi’s clients usually knew exactly what they wanted, how they wanted to see themselves. It was rare to have one ask for guidance.

 

“Here.”

 

Levi smooths his hands along Erwin’s shoulders to straighten them, then uses two fingers to tilt Erwin’s chin toward the window.

 

“Relax your hands,” Levi says quietly. “Like that, good. Are you comfortable?”

 

“Yes,” Erwin breathes. 

 

Levi feels him swallow and remembers to drop his hand. He goes to his stool, settling in.

 

Today he'd only sketch but already his mind spins ahead to colors, the warm golds he’d use to paint Erwin’s skin and hair, white for the plain shirt laced at his collarbone, his eyes the same blue as the window view. 

 

Levi can’t remember the last time the subject intrigued him more than the painting. 

 

He peeks over the easel and catches Erwin biting his lip for a moment before exhaling. Levi wasn’t the only nervous one.

 

“Erwin.”

 

Erwin glances over. He gives a small, shaky laugh. “I’ve never done this before.”

 

“You’re doing great. Just keep looking toward the light. There’s a lot to see out there.”

 

Erwin nods. He sighs, a long exhale through his nose, then looks out the window. His face loses tension and his eyes brighten, like something’s caught his interest. Levi smiles and reaches for his pencil.

 

*

 

Levi finishes the initial sketch as dusk takes to the sky. Erwin tries to sneak a glimpse and Levi bats him away, Erwin’s playful grin wide and close. Levi sends him off with a handful of dried figs and loiters in the front doorway until Erwin’s shadow disappears down the road.

 

The second session only lasts an hour, when the busy market keeps Erwin working near til sundown. This time Petra is there to meet him, and Levi pretends not to hear as she tells Erwin stories of their youthful mishaps.

 

The third session Levi works so long and Erwin stays so patient that neither notices the sun fading until the light is gone entirely. 

 

“Shit,” he mutters, quickly standing to light a candle. Erwin blinks, startled and sleepy.

 

“Didn’t mean to keep you so late,” Levi says. 

 

“You can stay tonight if you’d like,” Petra says, eating supper at the table. Levi hadn’t noticed her returning for the evening.

 

“Oh I couldn’t impose,” Erwin says. “In any case my men would fear I’d been ambushed by unsatisfied customers if I didn’t return to the ship.”

 

“The wool industry is that dangerous, is it?” Petra grins. “Have some supper and stay. I insist.”

 

Erwin looks at Levi, who shrugs and says, “She insists.”

 

After supper Levi further insists that Erwin take his bed, and has to threaten to tie him down with the blanket to get him to stay. Still Erwin sends him guilty looks as he returns to the studio on the other side of the house.

 

Levi sleeps at his stool, propped back against the wall. It was nothing new for him, and more often than not he woke feeling sharp. Perhaps his spine would have something to say about it if he grew old enough for it to become a problem. 

 

*

 

Levi wakes still in his day clothes, with Petra snoring on the other side of the room. It takes a moment for the disorientation to pass. He realizes he's in his own bed. Then he throws back the covers and looks over the house and studio, only to find it empty.

 

“Petra,” he says, going to her bedside. He shoves at her shoulder. “Hey. Where’s Erwin?”

 

She mumbles something more like a growl than actual words, securing her blanket around her head like a shield. 

 

“Petra?”

 

“What? He must’ve left early for the market, right?”

 

_ Of course _ . He hadn’t slept so deeply in so long, his mind was still catching up with the morning. 

 

Levi opens the front door and peers down the road. Nothing stirred but an old tomcat who scurried at the creak of the door.

 

He doesn’t see Erwin again until that afternoon. The man comes bearing vegetables, onions, and an air that he had done nothing wrong. Outside Petra plucks away at her lira, cursing as she tunes.

 

“I thought we might have stew after our session,” Erwin says, setting the food on the table.

 

Levi folds his arms. “How did I end up back in my own bed this morning?”

 

Erwin smiles, caught. 

 

“You should have seen your neck.” Erwin’s eyes fall there as he speaks. “You would have woke with it frozen at that awful angle.”

 

“I sleep that way all the time. Did you have to carry me?”

 

“I’m sorry, I--”

 

“No, that’s not--the problem--” For a wild moment he wishes he could have been awake for that. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought. “I sleep that way all the time.”

 

Erwin eyes are on his again, in the fond way he’s still not used to. “You’re awful stubborn, do you realize that?”

 

“Thank you,” Petra shouts from outside.

 

Levi pretends to hold great interest in a zucchini to escape the conversation. “So, stew?”

 

Erwin smiles mysteriously. “You should sleep in your bed more often. It’s very comfortable.”

 

*

 

Levi has a solid enough basis for the painting by the end of the first week. He doesn’t need Erwin for the rest. Not for the shading, the colors, the finish.

 

Somehow they both neglect to mention this.

 

*

 

A nearly week-long spell of rare summer rain closes the marketplace, a fact that amuses Erwin, whose English counterparts would have thrown felt cloth over their stalls and kept selling.

 

Levi makes significant strides on the painting, pushes it to near-completion. The time sequestered together brings an ease to their movements around each other. The way Levi moves Erwin around to reach something, the way Erwin laughs at the worst of his humor, the way Levi predicts the skip of his heart each time Erwin sits close.

 

On the fifth day of the rainy week Levi’s hand cramps and his attention grows restless.

 

“If I hold this thing for another second I’ll snap it in half,” Levi says, tossing a brush down. “You can relax, we’re taking a break.”

 

Erwin blinks like he’s coming out of a trance. He stretches his neck as Levi sits beside him at the window, hopping up on the sill.

 

“It’s almost like being home again,” Erwin says, eyes soft on the dreary window.

 

“You miss it?” Levi asks.

 

“Sometimes. But the rain is forgiving here, not the kind to chill you to the bone.”

 

“Sounds like you could catch your death in your English weather. You should stay in Naples.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Oh yes. You could live on my fabulous painter’s salary,” Levi adds with a snort.

 

“You tempt me.”

 

Erwin’s smile is too warm a thing for Levi to look at this long, this close. He glances at his own cramping hand and rubs looseness back into the palm, thumb digging deep into muscle.

 

“Well,” Levi says, “I can’t take another day in this damned house. As soon as this rain lets up we’re going to a gallery. I need inspiration.”

 

“I’m not inspiring enough for you?” Erwin teases.

 

“Are you two ever going to be quiet?” Petra shouts from the front of the house. “I can’t hear myself play!”

 

Levi and Erwin share a smile, biting their lips against laughter. The rain was affecting them all.

 

*

 

That Saturday Levi meets Erwin the moment his stall closes for the day. The streets gleam with the last silver brushes of rain as they make their way up winding roads to a new portrait gallery at the viceroy's villa. The high walls of the gallery give way to open ceilings, bottling and releasing bursts of sunlight.

 

It helps Levi to get away from his studio, to see another's creation when his own colors and brushstrokes grow too familiar and blur in his mind.  The company doesn’t hurt, either.

 

“Looks like you’d something your sheep would make,” Levi says, admiring a portrait of a young girl in a fine wool coat. He leans close as he can, muttering to himself now. “Look at the texture, you can see every fiber…”

 

“It’s beautiful,” Erwin says, low and quiet. “I wonder if the material was Iberian.”

 

“Is that what your group uses?”

 

“Oh yes, mostly. Only the wealthiest merchants sell real English stock, so we use Merino sheep from Spain or Portugal.”

 

“So this stuff really interests you, eh?”

 

“Not really.” Erwin smiles. “But this does.”

 

Levi follows his eyes to the painting, to the rows of art in circles of sunlight.

 

“It was always my father’s business. I couldn’t let it die with him so I took up the trade, that’s all. Merchantry pays my wages, but this stirs my blood. All the lands I’ve seen, the people I’ve met, I wish I could save them all like this.” He laughs. “Of course I’m so clumsy with my hands I could scarcely hold a brush without dropping it. But you…”

 

He looks at Levi’s hands, loose at his side, then gently takes one. It never fails to unsettle Levi, how easy with touch Erwin had shown himself to be.  He reminds himself Erwin is like this with everyone he trades with, friendly and open, nothing more than a businessman’s tactic.

 

“There's a blessing in your hands.”

 

Erwin’s fingers trace paths over Levi’s palm, light as a spring breeze. Each of Levi’s careful reminders to himself fly from his head.

 

“My ship leaves for England in a fortnight.”

 

It was as if a draft swept through the sunny hall. Levi slowly draws his hand back. “Oh.”

 

“We’ve sold nearly all our wares. There’s only so many excuses I can make before the men begin to get suspicious.”

 

“Naturally.”

 

Levi knew this day would come, knew it all along. But now it was a certainty, not an abstract idea in an abstract future.

 

“Before I go there is more I wish to see.” Erwin smiles softly. “Truthfully I feel I could spend a lifetime in your country and never behold it all. But in particular, I’d like to see the countryside, the vineyards of Campania. I’ve heard they’re beautiful.”

 

“You should get some time away, if you can.” Levi speaks lightly to his hands. “They really are.”

 

It’s silent for a moment before Erwin says, “It seems I’ve done it again.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I haven’t made myself perfectly clear. Come away with me, if you can.”

 

Levi frowns even as his heart leaps. “I won’t have time to complete the painting before you leave. You won’t get to see it.”

 

“The painting.” Erwin waves a hand. “I can look in a mirror to see myself. I’d like to see you, as much as I can.”

 

“Ah ha.” Levi smirks. “So the commission was a ruse.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Erwin says, a teasing edge to his smile.

 

“You just wanted my friendship. Didn't realize I was that likable.”

 

Levi reaches out, impossibly slow, and takes Erwin’s hand back. His skin is sea-rough and gentle and warm.

 

“Your friendship," Erwin says. "Yes.”

 

*

 

For a few florins and a claim of devotion to God, the two of them catch a ride with a caravan of Catholics bound for Rome. Erwin earns their trust and attention with tales of England, along with fervent admonishment of King Henry’s new church. Levi watches him spin stories easy as he made a sale, watches his fascinated audience. There was indeed something about him that caught every attention.

 

Levi dines on the moments Erwin would look up and meet his eye, his small smiles like secrets between them alone.

 

He knows what the wise ones say about unrighteous attraction. He knows the ravings of the Catholic priests, of the new branches of Christians who weren’t as different from the Holy See as they liked to think.

 

But he was no Christian, and Erwin was no ordinary man. No ordinary man had bewitched his sensibilities like this. No ordinary man had made a home in his mind and heart, where Levi couldn’t be moved to cast him out. 

 

*

 

They stay at a little inn on a hilltop, overlooking a small village and the lazy nod of olive branches in the fields stretching for miles around. Erwin carries some of their things but Levi manages the bulk of it himself, if only because he likes the impressed look on Erwin’s face. He likes the way Erwin looks him over, as if he wonders where Levi keeps all that strength in his body.

 

Dusk gives quick way to night and Levi settles into a bed a few feet away from Erwin’s. The inn room soon fills with Erwin’s hearty snores and for once Levi is quick to find sleep, at mindless ease.

 

*

 

The country makes Levi think of his mother, the place they lived when he was young. One of his strongest childhood memories is the sight of her standing on a grassy hill, a lovely spot of darkness among the gold and green, her dress black as her hair and just as wild in the wind. Levi had complained of the cold then and she swept him into her wiry arms, holding him warm and close.

 

Standing outside the inn, where sunrise sends shadows creeping through the quiet hills, everything feels right, more like home than anything he’s known in years. He closes his eyes and could be a child again.

 

That morning Levi takes a walk with Erwin through the countryside, past groves of olive and laurel. He points out the flora, the pink oleander and the cade juniper, with Erwin attentive to his every word. When the wind rolls too sharply Levi hangs close to Erwin’s back until he feels warm again.

 

In the afternoon they rest their legs, settling beneath trees. Orange creeps into the sprawling oak leaves overhead, a reminder Erwin will leave soon.

 

“Even out here I can feel the sway of the ocean when I lie down.” Erwin’s eyes close, serene. “I wonder if that will ever go away. If I will ever stay still long enough.”

 

“Do you want to?” Levi asks.

 

“Do I want to?” For a second he peeks a single eye open. “Hmm. I’m starting to.”

 

He goes quiet then, mysterious as ever. Levi doesn’t mind. He folds hands behind his head and lies next to Erwin, lazy with contentment, breathing deep from the earthy warmth of the grass and the man beside him.

 

*

 

In the following days Levi grows fond of the village: the clever wind of the road through the hills, the cats keeping watch over children at play, the old woman at the edge of town handing slices of oiled bread to every passerby. He doesn’t miss the lap of gulf waves. He doesn’t miss the sticky mess of the city.

 

Levi can’t imagine Erwin is pining for England himself.

 

He can’t say what leads his heart to ache at the sight of Erwin carefree, entertaining villagers, stopping to offer a stray cat a morsel from his fingertips. In his portrait Levi had found a sadness in the man’s eyes. He remembers the hints of lost parents, a lonely childhood. Watching him now, Levi sees a man at peace.

 

Sometimes he has to remind himself of the impermanence of this. Sometimes he has to catch himself when he relaxes at Erwin’s side, when he grows comfortable with the companionship. In a week he’ll never see this man again. 

 

Every morning he hardens his heart, only for the gentlest brush of Erwin’s arm against his to ruin him all over again. He can't begin to wonder how he'll go back from this.

 

*

 

Levi stands at the window, still clothed against the night air, so much cooler away from the coast. He slips a finger through the ribbon in his hair until it loosens, slides free. There’s a soft shuffle of footsteps near the door as he picks up a brush to free the tangles and grit of the day.

 

“Set for tomorrow?” Erwin asks, nodding toward the packed bag at the foot of Levi’s bed.

 

“Better to get a jump on it.” He winces at a gnarl in his hair, works gentler with the brush. “So we can take our time in the morning.”

 

Erwin’s eyes go to Levi’s hands. They slow.

 

He knows now there won't be any going back.  He knows now how readily he accepts this.

 

“Do you mind?” Levi asks, offering the brush.

 

“Not at all.” His voice goes soft in its surprise.

 

Erwin takes it and Levi turns back around, hands light on the windowsill. The feel of Erwin’s hand on his scalp, his shoulders, sends warm electric curls through his spine. He wonders if Erwin feels it. 

 

He continues long after Levi’s hair is knot-free, sliding silky through his fingers.

 

“I fear this may have been a mistake,” Erwin says.

 

“Sorry, did you find any rats in there?” Levi asks, putting a hand to his head.

 

Erwin laughs, a hand closely following the sweep of the brush. “Coming here, I mean.”

 

“How so?”

 

Erwin tucks a strand of hair back behind Levi’s ear.

 

“It’s going to be that much harder to leave you now.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“Not tonight.”

 

Levi turns around, taking Erwin’s hand before he can pull it away. Already his skin flushes, burns at the barest brush of skin, at the rove of Erwin’s eyes. He accepts this, welcomes this, drags this into being.

 

“No. Not tonight.”

 

*

 

Levi rises early to wash his undershirt. He scrubs the cloth in a basin outside so he doesn’t think about Erwin inside, sun slowly gilding his hair on the pillow.

 

If he goes back inside with Erwin like that, he just might ask him to stay. If he asks, Erwin just might say yes. And he can’t be the one to pull Erwin from his livelihood. He doesn’t dare ask for more than he’s given. More than he ever thought he would have.

 

When he finally goes in for his bag Erwin is dressed, seated at the edge of the bed. Levi regards him from the doorway. The man’s hair is so well-combed Levi has to laugh.

 

“What?” Erwin asks.

 

Already he’s smiling. It takes a moment for Levi to realize he is, too. Like neither of them can shake the flash of happiness they’ve found, a dog at their heels.

 

“We’re traveling all day.” He walks in slowly, sits beside Erwin. “This will be ruined in minutes.”

 

“What will?”

 

Levi runs a hand across Erwin’s scalp, leaving soft strands unsettled. “This.”

 

“Shame.”

 

With the curtains still shut tight Levi allows himself be pulled closer. He supposes he can ask for a few minutes more.

 

*

 

Erwin’s ship leaves in the last days of summer. At dawn Levi makes his way to the dock in a long coat, the morning refreshingly cool, a painting secured in the bag on his back. He fades into the street as he watches Erwin load cargo onto the ship alongside his men, most conversing happily in Spanish, ready to be on their way home. 

 

When the ship is near-ready Erwin steps away, removes his hat, casts his eyes up the slope of the city. Levi watches as his eyes linger, search, fade.

 

“Thought you’d sail off for merry England without saying goodbye, did you?”

 

Erwin’s eyes widen at his voice, relief spreading sweet over his face. “Levi.”

 

He rushes forward to embrace him. Being in his arms is a comfort and thrill at once, warm like home and exhilarating like adventure. Levi struggles not to pull him back when Erwin steps away.

 

“You’re just in time,” Erwin says.

 

“No kidding. I brought something for you.” Levi starts to reach for his bag. “You know, the reason we--”

 

“Keep it.”

 

“What?”

 

“I know what it is, but keep it. Please. So you won’t forget me?”

 

Erwin’s tone is light but there’s a vulnerability, a doubt in his eyes. 

 

“Alright. If you insist.”

 

Erwin smiles, even as Levi wants to retreat into an aloof shell so he doesn’t have to feel this. The impending farewell rushes into the space and silence between them.

 

“I’m not some lonely wife you’re leaving while you make your fortune,” Levi says. “You don’t have to kiss me goodbye or anything. Get going.”

 

Erwin laughs. He takes Levi’s hand, so small in his. He raises the hand to his lips and presses a quick kiss there. Too many eyes for anything more. 

 

“Goodbye, Levi. Thank you for everything.”

 

“Goodbye.” The word sounds like it comes from a different man, one with a jagged glass throat.

 

Levi doesn’t stay at the harbor, doesn’t fancy himself that sentimental. He does turn back when he reaches his house, searching for an English flag on the horizon, only to find it empty. He swallows hard and goes inside.

 

*

 

That night Levi shuts the completed painting away with his others, closing the door without ceremony. Petra comes up behind him, lays a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I will miss him too,” she says.

 

“Just another client,” he mutters.

 

She stays at his side, and after a while he covers her hand with his own. 

 

*

 

Levi’s eye finds the water more often now. Since he was born the world seemed wider with every year, with every new discovery. Instead of full with possibility it only seems empty now, endless stretches of water beyond the gulf separating him from Erwin. Wider every year.

 

Routine is slow to take his mind off what he had, but when it works he’s grateful for the distraction. Work stays steady as does Petra’s presence, her friendship. Levi chases normalcy until it settles beside him.

 

He won’t mourn for a man who never died, won’t pine for a love that never should have been.

 

At his loneliest he might find himself running a light hand along his own neck, pretending the touch was another’s. Mostly he knows this was only another chapter in his life come to a close, another completed commission.

 

He accepts another job. He moves on.

 

*

 

Levi hears the clatter of Petra’s sandals on the street outside long before she flings open the door, breathing hard. He’s in the middle of sketching the viceroy’s niece, who looks up disapprovingly.

 

“Pardon, Signora,” Petra says quietly. “Levi, there’s been a messenger. You have a letter.”

 

“Thanks, Petra.”

 

She leaves the letter on the table and goes, her smile inscrutable.

 

It’s a struggle not to rush through the rest of the session. He hasn’t received mail in years, not since a Venetian nobleman took issue with the size of his tempera brows and spent significant postage to complain. Finally the viceroy’s niece leaves and Levi hurries to unfold the letter.

 

_ Levi, _

 

_ I find myself selling in Bavaria this season, close enough to send you this at a reasonable cost. _

 

_ There’s a farm in Andalusia, at least once a year I stay there on business. If you would ever like to you may send a letter to this address, and it will reach me. _

 

_ I do so miss you. I wonder if you think of our time in the countryside half as often as I. Perhaps I shall see you again some day. If not, the memories will keep me warm for a lifetime, even in English rain. _

 

_ Erwin _

 

Everything he tried to suppress rushes back, so swift he sinks into the nearest chair. He had half-imagined Erwin dead by now, lost to disease or the sea. To know he was alive…to know he still thought of Levi...

 

He reads the letter again, slowly taking in each sentence, surgically parsing each word.  _ Perhaps I shall see you again _ . The thought never occurred to Levi. It seemed impossible in the wild stretch of the world, but he wasn’t half the dreamer Erwin was.

 

Levi folds the letter just once, careful with the crease. He rests his head against the chair and, for the first time in years, lets himself dream.

 

*

 

“So what happened in the countryside?” Petra asks the next day, innocent as can be.

 

“We discussed how nosy you are,” Levi says, and dodges her attempt to pull his hair.

 

*

 

A troupe of French musicians stop in Naples that summer, making their way east across the continent. Petra spends nearly every day with them, learning their  _ chansons _ , sharing her lira technique in return. Levi isn’t surprised when she can’t let them leave without her.

 

“They will be learning music from the Ottomans, from Persia, all over Asia if we can make it. Levi, it’s an unbelievable opportunity--”

 

“It is,” Levi says, cutting off her explanations. “I’m happy for you.”

 

He is, truly, even if something prickles behind his eyes when she hugs him. He too would follow every call of his heart if he could.

 

When the day comes Levi waves at the door as Petra follows the troupe down the road. He goes inside to an emptier house, a quiet house. 

 

A few days later he opens the closet door and looks over the stacks of paintings. Levi runs a careful hand over the edge of Erwin’s portrait, takes in the kind smile and faraway eyes, incomparable to the reality of him.

 

With unexpected ease, Levi makes his choice. 

 

*

 

He earns enough in a gallery showing to afford moving to a little place in the country village. He’ll make even more selling his city house. It’s been lonely without Petra, though it makes him happy to think of her traveling the world, delighting children in distant lands.

 

Levi uses a portion of his earnings to send a letter to Andalusia. The letter is reluctant to leave his hand when the messenger comes. Already he wonders how Erwin will react.

 

He looks to the gulf before he leaves its view, takes a portrait in his memory. Nothing would stay for good in this world, he knows. Even the pieces he put to canvas would weather away with time. So he’ll follow his heart while he can, before it too wears away.

 

Levi tosses his bags onto a cart and drives away from Naples.

 

_ Do you remember the inn? I will be moving into that village soon. Petra joined a musical troupe and abandoned me, so I find little reason to stay in Naples anymore. I want to paint more landscapes. People tire me.  _

 

_ You, however, remain an exception. It seems unlikely but if you ever return to Campania I want you to be able to find me. At least if you know where I am you won’t feel so far away to me. Maybe if I were a better portraitist your painting would fill the void, but it doesn’t. Damn you for making me miss you. _

 

_ Hoping that you are well, always, _

 

_ Levi _

 

*

 

Springtime in the countryside brings flowering myrtle trees and the first growth of new olives. Levi sits on a wood chair outside his home and paints new life into a canvas. As well as he endured city life he prefers this, the whisper of cool breezes and distant neighbors and quiet nights.

 

Some nights grow too quiet. Some thoughts Levi would love to share with another. But he’s learned to be thankful for what he has, to never ask for more lest he risk losing it all.

 

A shape moves in his line of vision as he details a myrtle’s trunk in the fading afternoon glow. Levi glances up to see someone slowly climbing the hill, encumbered by luggage. He doesn’t give it a thought. His mind was too rooted in realism to ever truly imagine he’d come.

 

“Levi?”

 

He never realized he forgot Erwin’s voice until he heard it again, until it was undeniably him. The paintbrush lands somewhere in the grass as Levi stands.

 

“I received your letter,” Erwin says, holding it up with a sheepish smile. The paper looks worn and soft from use, like it’s been folded and smoothed hundreds of times. “I wanted to write back but figured I would get here faster than a letter anyway. I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Levi, I know it’s been--”

 

Levi runs to him, throwing his arms around Erwin’s neck, dragging him down. Erwin drops his luggage and they fall to their knees, holding tight. 

 

“Levi.”

 

The word is a quiet flutter in his hair. It takes a moment to find his own voice, lost in the shock.

 

“How are you here?” Levi asks, when the solidity of Erwin’s back beneath his hands convinces him this is real. “Do you have business?”

 

“We’ve had a good few years. A great few years, in fact.” Erwin’s enthusiasm brims below his careful words, infectious. “I’ve made enough to settle down, and to start trading locally once I’m established.”

 

“So…” Levi pulls back, not daring to hope. “So how long are you here?”

 

“As long as you’ll have me.”

 

Levi tugs Erwin back into his arms. For a moment he loses his voice again, feels it come and go in slow waves. The sunset stings his eyes.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Levi finally mutters.

 

“No. Not tonight.”

 

Levi smiles. Erwin’s heart steadies against his own chest.

 

“Not ever.”


End file.
